Addiction

To Gina and Megan.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ Leave a comment

Days go on. 

Life goes on. 

Yet, I don’t know how to live with the questions. 

They don’t come gently – they rip through me. 

What did I miss? 

What didn’t I say? 

Why didn’t I see it? 

Why didn’t I do more? 

I keep thinking there had to be a moment- just one – where I could’ve reached you. Where I could’ve said the right thing in the right way and it would’ve cut through whatever was hurting you enough to make you put the drugs/needle down. To make you stay. I replay our conversations like if I study them hard enough, I’ll find the exact moment you decided “do it just one more time”. 

And God, that thought is unbearable. 

Because I would have done anything. 

Anything. 

I would have sat with you all night.

I would have answered every call. 

I would have fought for you even when you didn’t have the strength to fight for yourself. 

I would have carried your pain if it meant you didn’t have to feel it anymore. 

You didn’t deserve the kind of pain that made using feel like the only option. That numbing out was the only option – even if it cost you your life. And it kills me that I didn’t understand how deep it went. That maybe you were drowning right in front of me and I didn’t see it for what it was. 

I hate that I couldn’t save you. That no one could have saved you. 

I hate that I’m still here living a life that you should be a part of. That I still reach for my phone to text you. That I still think “she’ll love this” before it hits me all over again that you’re gone. 

You’re just gone. 

And it doesn’t make sense. It never will make sense. 

There is this ache in my chest that doesn’t leave – it just changes shape. Some days it’s quiet, and other days it’s so loud I can’t hear anything else. Because I don’t just miss you – I miss who I was when you were here. 

I miss telling you everything I couldn’t tell anyone else. 

I miss reading vocab words to you straight from the dictionary. 

I miss arguing with you about why I can’t make you homemade granola or croutons. 

I hope wherever you are, the pain stops. I hope you’re not hurting anymore. I hope you know how loved you were, even if it didn’t feel like it. 

And I’m so, so sorry that love wasn’t enough to keep you here.

I would have saved you if I knew how. 

I still wish I could. 

But as much as I want it my way, it’s His not mine. 

I have to believe Jeus was there when it happened – that He saw your pain, held you in it, and carried you somewhere peaceful when it got too heavy. I have to believe you’re resting now. 

Safe. 

Whole. 

And I know that someday, we’ll meet again – painting under the trees, next to the flowers. 

A Morning In Recovery.

~ The Fragrance of my Mother ~ 1 Comment

It’s a chilly, sunny morning in November. It’s that perfect cold right before the temperature really drops to freezing. I have the morning to myself. I decide to go to my favorite little coffee shop in my very favorite part of town. I order my usual black and white mocha, extra hot, with oat milk and a banana chocolate chip muffin. I find the perfect table right in the back where there’s the perfect balance of sunlight shining in and cozy lamp lighting above my tiny table perfect for just me. The place is buzzing with people but not overwhelmingly so. The sound of milk steaming, laughs and conversation between friends and jazz surround me. I put my phone away and only have a book, my coffee and my laptop to write. 

It’s the perfect morning. 

I sit and think to myself that in this moment, I am truly happy. I am truly content. It’s the most present I’ve felt in about the last month or so. 

As I sit and just soak in the moment, there it is. A voice that although silent to everyone around me, might as well be yelling in my ear. A loud and intrusive guest who sat down at my table without being invited and whose only intention is to ruin my morning. Maybe even my whole day. Maybe even my life.

“A cocktail sounds really good right about now. I really want to drink.” I think to myself. 

It’s 10 a.m. 

Where did that even come from?! Here I am, minding my own business, enjoying a beautiful morning and having a completely blissful moment to myself and I want to drink?! Why?! 

I’m not upset. I’m not grieving. I’m not in a triggering location. I’m not around alcohol. I’m not feeling sad, angry or depressed. I’m not nervous or socially anxious (which is usually, without fail, my greatest trigger to drink). 

I sit and so begins the overanalyzing and I find myself drifting to the past and to the future. I find the present moment slipping away. My head starts spinning and the thoughts start flooding my mind. Suddenly, I’m not alone at this table. Soon enough, anxiety, frustration, shame and discouragement sit down and join me, just as unwelcome as the urge to drink. 

Now in the past, honestly, I probably would have just agreed with the voice tempting me to drink and walked myself to the bar next door and called it “bruch”. I mean it is Sunday after all, therefore it’s totally acceptable to be wasted by 1 pm. And I’ll have the rest of the day to just sleep it off and still make it to work at 7 am tomorrow morning. 

Or, I would have just packed up my stuff, morning ruined, spiraling in shame and discouragement and finding myself fighting the urge to drink the rest of the day. Chances are, eventually I would have given up and given in. 

But today is different. 

Addiction is a bully. One who’s bark, unfortunately, can be just as brutal as its bite. At times, unceasing and relentless. 

I really shouldn’t be surprised by moments like this. When thoughts come unannounced and seem unwarranted. But still, I am. 

That’s the thing about addiction. It’s not logical. Its nature is confusion, chaos and destruction. It doesn’t wait for life to fall apart or disappointment or anxiety to hit you AND THEN presents itself. It comes whenever and however it pleases. It will make itself known on the bad days and the best days. 

As I sit here this morning, I decided I could either let the shame of struggling with thoughts of drinking consume me like a sickness, OR, I could simply put pen to paper, so to speak, and take the road of vulnerability and shed a little light on what it’s like for someone who’s just trying to better their life and choose recovery. 

So today, that’s exactly what I’m doing. 

It’s amazing the power that’s lost when we’re just honest. Shame has kept me silent so many times before, because even admitting that I was struggling with wanting to drink seemed like a failure. I felt like I had failed even before I picked up a drink. 

Sitting in this little coffee shop, I made the decision to just say NO and with it, anxiety, shame, frustration and discouragement all got up and left my table. I can’t help but feel like those rude and intrusive thoughts are just lurking, waiting for a moment to sit down with me again. But for the moment, at least they’re quiet. 

I wish I could say it was that easy all the time and that I won’t be tempted again 5 seconds after typing these words, but the truth is that’s just not always the case. But for this moment, I’m saying NO. 

I turn my attention back to my book, and continue to slowly sip on my latte, thankful that I’m still sitting in this coffee shop and not at the bar next door. 

Today was a win and as much as addiction tried to steal my joy this morning, it didn’t succeed. 

It’s still a beautiful morning and I am still sober. 

For that, I’m grateful.